He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a
glimpse of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived
to do as she liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever
among the blooming flowers.
"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been
here nearly three hours."
"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel.
"I am sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants.
He told me confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the
heat of the ball room."
"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied.
"I like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have
everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?"
"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not
always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die,
beauty fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me.
I know the answer, but let some one else give it to you."
"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like
flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of
them; sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I
feel that I shall never live to grow old.
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